Loveless Blue
by NaturalEvil
Summary: This is a fantasy. Dante thought. A fantasy. It was a nasty trick played on an old man's starved mind. He'll blink and look and the sign on the van will say anything else. (Maybe it isn't blue. Maybe it isn't even there) This isn't the Kid, this is somebody else. A stranger that had stolen Nero's eyes and hair color and unmistakable walk. Hell was real but this is not. (DxN)
1. Found

The headlights of the van were as bright and blinding as desert sunlight; it was the only thing he could see, that white nothingness that made his eyes burn. Even after he held his arm up over his face, Dante felt like the guilty suspect from every cop show he had ever watched; sweaty and tired and about to be interrogated.

But so far no one had said a single word; the only noises that he could hear were the buzzing headlights of that van and the low, smoking rumble of Pandora underneath him.

He swallowed dryly, and realized right then that he had probably scared them; trailing after them for as fast and long as he did. But he couldn't help himself, one brief look at that flashing blue sign (neon, miraculous, familiar, and more miraculous still) He took off like Hell was still on his heels, following them for what felt like days.

That sign, his gift to the Kid. He was actually using it? Dante couldn't believe it.

* * *

From the inside of that van, Nero squinted right back at him. His brow furrowing as he poked his head out of the window to get a better view, knowing that his face was obscured by the high beams. He was quiet as he gazed at this strange man in front of him, looking wild and dangerous on that motorcycle that growled and glowed like a living thing.

 _That looks just like—_

"Don't know what he's ridin', but it sure as hell ain't a hog." Nico's words came out in a spider web of smoke, eyeing Dante through the windshield. She didn't know who he was, she just thought he looked like some kind of washed up rock star; fresh out of rehab and smelling worse than yesterday's trash. The kind of guy that you could take one look at and see as plain as anything that he was hanging onto his glory days by less than a thread.

She glanced over at her partner, at his twisted mouth and unreadable face, knowing that whatever emotion he was feeling at the moment was drowning just below the surface of his blue eyes, ready to crash through like a brick through a car window. She hated it when he looked like that, carved from stone and just as cold to the touch. He didn't look like her partner at all...

(But somebody else)

The Devil Breaker (her baby) had more life in it than he did at that moment.

"So what's your call, Nero? He's been on our asses for a while. I've tried every twist and turn but I can't shake him. You think he wants something?"

There was a pause, thick and hot and tingling with uncertainty, like syrup riddled with ants.

"Turn off the brights." For as long as they had known each other she was always surprised at how cold his voice sounded when he got like that, so far off and away. Any other time, he was friendly and full of smart-mouthed jokes, maybe even nice. But the tone he took now had a razors edge to it; ready to slice and cut and draw all the blood from the nearest living thing.

Nico could only shrug her shoulders in response, and with a flick of her yellow-tipped fingers, the lights were shut off.

"Stay here." Nero said in the same tone as he leapt out the window and into the hot empty street, feeling his heart beat so fast that he was sure it was trying to slam its way out of his chest. He tried not to notice how his human hand began to shake and sweat and shake some more, whilst the other (that cold metal replacement) simply curled its fingers into a hard fist and stayed that way.

 _After all this time…_

 _After everything…_

As the lights died off, Dante lowered his arm with a heavy sigh of relief, blinking dumbly at the newfound darkness of the night, dull white splotches still dancing across his vision like dusty ghosts running for cover. He took a quiet moment to rub his eyes before focusing on the person walking up to him, not a teenager, but still much younger than him. Moon-bright hair so short, it looked like he had cut it himself with his eyes closed, black boots scuffing along the pavement with each step he took. And a—

 _Is that…?_

Dante thought to himself, (fixated, numb, _stupid_ , unblinking) Feeling his dead-skinned lips twitch as he slowly dropped the kickstand of Pandora down to put it to sleep, not knowing what else to do.

 _Kid?_

He watched as the Kid stopped dead in his tracks like he had just heard that long-forgotten nickname, though the both of them knew that nothing had been said. It was the red trench coat that made Nero pause, the long tangled gray hair, all of it familiar; all of it unmistakable. (Painfully so, like a punch to the gut or a slap across the face)

Everything was quiet now.

 _This is a fantasy._ Dante thought. A fantasy. It was a nasty trick played on an old man's starved mind. He'll blink and look and the sign on the van will say anything else. (Maybe it isn't blue. Maybe it isn't even there) This isn't the Kid, this is somebody else. A stranger that had stolen Nero's eyes and hair color and unmistakable walk.

Hell was real but this is not.

As Dante closed his eyes, a hard weariness scratched its lines deep across his face, like a hunting knife taken to a basement bar countertop. He wanted to say something but he did not know what. Hello? Hey there? What's up? How's it goin'?

I'm sorry?

None of them sounded appealing or like they would do any good. It would inevitably end in violence; maybe Nero would smack him or kick him. (he deserved that) Or kill him. (he deserved that too) Any other time, Dante could have handled whatever the Kid threw at him with ease, generously tossing around smiles and taunts like handfuls of colorful parade confetti.

But today,

tonight,

now;

After everything, he just wanted to kick back and relax. To sleep until he was dead.

Nero looked at the battered man in front of him, and he felt his lips purse tight like a still-healing wound. It felt like if he opened his mouth to speak; his skin would tear and bleed. He watched this man, (this old, _old_ man with his long gray hair and rugged vagabond beard) before turning away silently, his ragged heart still pounding in his chest. He walked calmly back to the van, where his partner sat waiting in the driver's seat; curious and bright-eyed and wondering just what the hell all that was about.

"Uhhhhh Nico…" Nero said quietly as he leaned casually into the driver's window, his voice having lost its sharp edge, sounding completely drained and so dull it couldn't cut water. She took a nervous drag of her cigarette before leaning in to close to him, wanting to talk and ask questions just as much as she wanted to hear what it was that he had to say.

Dante could only watch, feeling almost helpless as he dismounted Pandora and transformed the devil arm back into its more portable form, the briefcase; which he slung carelessly over his shoulder like an overnight bag. He watched Nero closely but was unable to catch a word of what was being said. (Was his hearing starting to go?) It made Dante feel anxious; it made him feel excluded. He wondered if he should walk right up and introduce himself or stay right where he was and just let whatever happen… happen.

Then he heard a scream.

But it was not a fearful scream, not bloodcurdling or agonizing; like someone was being attacked. It was a happy scream; fanatical and girlish. The kind of scream that brought to mind teenagers and popstars and lip-syncing boy bands.

"Him!?" A woman he had never seen before poked her head out of the window of the van, brushing her long dark hair out of her face to get a better view of him, the few nearby streetlights reflecting bright off her glasses.

"Yeah, Nico that's—"

"That guy right there?!" She pointed at him with the fervor of a small child looking at who they thought was Superman or Santa Clause, starstruck and completely in awe.

" _That's Dante?!"_

* * *

She said that her name was Nico, and that she was an expert weapons crafter, as well as Nero's business partner at their particular branch of Devil May Cry. And then right after that she told him to hop on in and make himself at home.

She was the talkative type, Dante decided as he hunkered down in the back seat, Pandora set down safe near his feet, Rebellion nestled behind him. (though he still wore his guns, he always wore his guns)

He could tell that she kind of woman who was eager to speak to both willing and unwilling audiences, regardless of the circumstances or if she was even being listened to. The southern hospitality of her voice rang as sweet to his ears as the music from his old jukebox.

Even the smell of her cigarettes managed to bring him comfort, the smoke curling and staling the air of the van, pressing in on everything like a gray wall closing in fast. Lung-rasping, tar-coating, cancer-causing; it was perhaps the most human smell that there ever was, and Dante was glad for it.

"I've always wanted to meet you, ya know." Nico said as she lit another cigarette, hazel brown eyes gazing at Dante through the rearview mirror, still filled with such startled warmth, like she couldn't believe that he was actually real. "I mean, not to sound like a creep, but it's true."

Nero sat silently beside Dante, his mismatched hands resting corpse-stiff on his thighs, his mouth shut tight like he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words, like what he actually wanted to say could be articulated better with a scream or a kick; if he could only muster up the energy.

After Dante got in, the brief exchange between Nero and his partner had been wordless, with Nico casually tilting her head in Dante's direction and mouthing something that Nero seemed to understand perfectly. Dante watched as the Kid lowered his gaze with an exasperated sigh, and then rolling his eyes before climbing into the backseat, obviously being forced to do something that he did not want to do.

After he sat down, the younger kept his eyes trained out the window, his face turned away from Dante like he couldn't stand the sight of him. The Kid was quiet; too quiet. The kind of quiet where you couldn't tell what they were thinking; only that it was bad and that it was about you.

It made Dante realize that there was a chasm in between them now, made wide by his careless abandonment back in Fortuna, then wider by his absence. Impossible to cross, impossible to shout and have your voice heard on the other side. The emptiness between them swallowed up everything; it made words and gestures worthless.

Without any sort of warning, the van rumbled to life, speeding off down the street and into the night; so fast that all three of their heads jerked back. Nico drove recklessly, paying attention to pretty much everything else except the open road in front of her.

Sensing the tension like an axe about to fall, she smoked habitually and fiddled with the dial of the radio, somehow managing to find a song she liked after two turns of the knob. She sang along loudly to classic rock and heavy metal, cooed to the acoustic guitar strum of country songs about battered women that shot their husbands and took off deep into the night. Nico filled the silence of the van (and that insurmountable chasm) with a steady river of words, music, and the constant click of her disposable lighter colored cotton candy pink.

She blew smoke rings as easy as she would a bubble or a kiss.

Then she started talking again, calling Dante baby or honey, even though he was certain that he was old enough to be her Dad. Asking him a few scattered, harmless questions and then not waiting for his answer. Her mouth seemed to run away without her, but Dante did not mind; not one little bit.

As Dante half-listened, he licked his cracked lips before looking over at the Kid, who glared at him through the reflection of the window, his brow furrowed in silent irritation like he had just been insulted. Dante's eyes flickered down to Nero's prosthetic arm and stayed there, feeling a sudden stab of pain deep in his chest, tingling cold down his own arms, even though he was not the one who had been hurt.

 _Kid, what the hell happened? Who did that to you?_ He wanted to ask, but then didn't.

"That's my handiwork right there." Nico beamed at him through the mirror, her proud smile dimpling her cheeks. Dante seemed taken aback; he didn't know that she was paying attention to him, catching him staring like that and—Wait a minute, she…what?!

…

 _Oh._ He thought after a moment, wanting to slap his forehead.

She meant the prosthetic.

"You made that?" He questioned as he struggled to compose himself, though he was genuinely astonished. She gave him an excited nod in response, her dark curls bouncing like coiled springs around her shoulders, happy at having impressed him.

Dante turned his gaze back to the arm that looked completely futuristic, like something out of a science-fiction movie. _"_ Made it specifically to kick all kinds of demon ass. He sure can put on a show! Ain't cheap though, I will tell you that. Made it in several separate parts, he can do all sorts of wild shit with it. Can't you, Nero?"

She looked at her partner through the mirror, who turned and gave her a grin, painful and forced; his teeth clenched tight under his pressed pink lips. He did not look at Dante.

"It's a gift I was born with." Nico continued, ignoring his sour expression. "Passed down through blood; got it from my grandmamma. '.45 Caliber Works.' That rings a bell, don't it?"

The name went off like a gunshot inside of Dante's skull, loud and ringing and far too recognizable. He sat up in one swift movement; and his eyes, though dull and in desperate need of sleep, went wide with clarity. "Nell?" He said the name like how he'd say 'Mom'.

"Nell Goldstein? _The_ Nell Goldstein? You're her…" His voice trailed off.

"Granddaughter." Nico confirmed as she tossed her cigarette out the window, giving a bizarre sense of genuine finality to her words.

Dante could only slump back down into his seat, hands dangling loose in his lap, unsure of what to do except grin warmly at surfacing memories of the woman who had given him one of his greatest gifts.

Good ol' Nell Goldstein, born when God was just a baby.

He looked over at the Kid who seemed to barely acknowledge what was being said, as nothing moved behind his face, his eyes unblinking and numb. _Geez, lighten up Kid. You're worse than your dad._ Dante thought bitterly, and then he yawned and stretched, loud and animated like an old cartoon character dressed in their pajamas and ready for bed.

Feeling beaten down, drugged and in need of that elusive mistress named sleep. (He's seen too much, done too much, been told too much) Dante's shady blue eyes narrowed as the beams of passing vehicles flashed by his vision, zooming in the opposite direction; away from wherever it was that they were heading. He could feel his surroundings beginning to fade, along with those he was with. He felt Nico drifting away, the sound of her voice trailing off as if being carried by a cold, cold, wind; down to a deep place where he could not reach.

The Kid was gone too, he was long gone.

Gentle, almost hesitant, and completely stupid as well as thoughtless, Dante laid his head against Nero's metal shoulder. His gray hair falling long in front of his eyes, obscuring passing street lights and shop signs in one shimmering neon blur. It felt like a lightshow was being performed just for him as he rested his cheek against what felt like a sledgehammer. A cold, hard tool that's only purpose was to destroy. (Isn't that all devil hunters are anyway?)

… _Where were they going?_

(Those cars, those people, he himself)

 _Someplace new? Maybe someplace better? Safer?_

(Is there such a place anymore?)

(Anywhere in the world?)

* * *

"Nero, you need to be nice." Nico said quietly after Dante had fallen asleep, taking on the soft tone of a Sunday school teacher asking her class to bow their heads for prayer. Nero turned his head to look at her, his eyes going dark; then darker when Dante started to snore.

"What are you talking about? I'm being nice." His voice quaked as he spoke, like water beginning to boil, fuming with a warm steam, not quite scalding, not yet. She could only look at him.

"I'm being so fucking nice right now. This bastard is slobbering all over my shoulder and he still gets to keep all of his teeth. I haven't run him over with the van or kicked him out to die in a ditch. So yeah, I'm being nice." Dante's breath, hot and sour; tickled the side of his neck. Nero could only turn away and look out the window, his muscles pulled tight like they were ready to tear at any given moment.

As far as he was concerned, he was a goddamned saint.

"What'd he do to you, Nero? You never talked about him. He doesn't seem so bad." Nico questioned softly, wanting him to open up. Pausing to take a long, sweet moment to light another cigarette; giving him a few heartbeats to gather his thoughts.

Nero only shook his head as he brought his human hand up to his mouth to chew on his finger nails. "That's just the thing, Nico. He didn't do a single fucking thing."


	2. Fed

"You alright, honey?" Nico's voice was like a candle luring him out of the empty darkness of sleep, as gentle and comforting as a hand to hold. Dante's bloodshot eyes flittered open in response, the nerves in his neck feeling pinched and stiff, his arms and legs aching of dead weight and old blood.

"Yeah, I'm fine…" He mumbled at her, his words jagged and almost incoherent as he wiped his hands down his face, his skin feeling oily and slick on his fingers. In that dry and airless backseat he was alone; Nero's place empty, as if he had never been there at all. Dante shook his head before looking out the window, seeing that they had pulled up to a gas station that was barren and lit like the apocalypse was about to happen. He heard a heavy sigh and looked over to see the Kid alive and well; quietly pumping gas with the enthusiasm of a drowned fish.

Finally able to get a decent look at Nero under the lights, Dante was surprised at how much he had changed and matured since the last time he had seen him. His chin was more angular and defined, dusted with the faintest tickle of stubble. He had grown into himself, into his bloodline; toned yet torn like his clothing. Nero's silence, his glacial calmness, all of it was far too reminiscent of his father; stern and loveless and blue. It looked as if there was hardly any trace left of the boy he had been.

Where did he go?

"Listen, I'm gonna run in and grab a Coke, you wanna come? Maybe stretch your legs?" Nico offered, keys jingling from in between her teeth as she rummaged around for her purse; a small leather clutch that she shoved under her arm.

Having hardly heard her, Dante nodded; mechanically sliding the van door open and stepping out onto the ground, his feet aching. She brushed past him, and he followed her into the store; walking with too-wide steps, trying to shuffle some feeling back into his knees.

Dante pretended that he couldn't sense the Kid's glare, feeling it burn hard into his back like fresh bullet holes.

* * *

As the doors shot open with a friendly ding, Dante recalled how many nights he had wasted in places like that. Scattered puzzle-pieces of memories tumbling into his mind from what felt like another lifetime, another universe.

He would wander in at two in the morning; drunk and starving for a bag of barbeque potato chips or one of those cheap cherry slushies that he couldn't get enough of. The whiskey that marinated his insides made him smile too hard, laugh too hard; even when there wasn't anything worth smiling or laughing about. His pickled brain thinking about nothing as he handed the clerk a fistful of cash, wadded up and wet with sweat. His wallet always empty the next morning, his mouth stained a heavy red like his tongue had been cleaved in two.

Now that he thought about it…where _was_ his wallet?

Nico immediately went to the drinks, leaving Dante to walk aimlessly about; his hands patting empty coat pockets for a monetary miracle, or any kind of miracle really. Finding nothing, his pale eyes scanned that chaos of candy, junk food, and the other little worthless knick-knacks that nobody ever bought but always lined the shelves anyway. It all seemed so foreign to him now, as unfamiliar and surreal as a nightmarish fever-dream that turned out to be a childhood memory.

So many different kinds, why are there so many now? Had it always been like this? He couldn't remember. (Why couldn't he remember?) All sorts of names and exclamation points shouting from the brightly colored packages like excited voices screaming in his face.

 **ALL NATURAL! FAT FREE! SUGAR FREE! REAL CHOCOLATE!**

(Since when? What had he been eating before?)

Was all of this normal? This was all normal, right?

He didn't know.

But what he _did_ know was that they made his head hurt and he had to look away; at the tiles under his feet or the lights humming above his head; anywhere. For some reason (one that he couldn't articulate) he felt open, oddly vulnerable and naked standing there by himself; even though he knew that he was safe and that Hell was far behind him now.

Subconsciously, as automatic as breathing or grinning, Dante's hands found their way under his coat to grip the handles of his guns just to make sure that they were still there, tracing their triggers intricately the way a priest would count the beads of his rosary. The heavy steel, gunmetal gray and that old familiar weight grounding him in the tried-and-true reality of now.

But they weren't enough. Needing a rock to ground himself on in that tsunami of color, of alien normalcy, he went over towards where Nico was standing; in front of the cooler that held the juice and soft drinks. It was then that he caught a look at his reflection in the glass door, and he paused, statue-still and uncomprehending.

There was hardly anything recognizable about him; even to himself, Dante looked like a total stranger. Unkempt with an almost bestial quality, his beard like a bushel of white thistles, emanating the aura of a beggar's insanity. His clothing was absolutely filthy, his hair a muddled mess (tangled by the wind), the straps holding his boots together looking like they were going to unravel and break apart at any given moment.

He was surprised that the Kid even recognized him, as bad as he looked. Hoping in his heart that perhaps the familiarity between them went beyond just skin-deep appearances, down into their shared blood, into the abyss of the soul.

Completely oblivious to Dante, Nico tapped a small packet of fifty-cent peanuts rhythmically against the revolver inked into her hip. She was zeroed in, positively stumped; stuck between choosing a Classic Coke (her favorite) or a Cherry Coke. (her other favorite)

Decisions, decisions…

Dante looked out the store window to see that Nero still hadn't moved from his spot, rolling his mechanical shoulder like he had pulled a muscle; frowning hard. Dante watched as Nero furrowed his eyebrows, then shuffled in place like something was bothering him.

"So, what's up with the Kid?" Dante heard himself ask, eyes flickering over to the tattooed vixen next to him, trying to sound unconcerned, like he didn't really care whether she answered him or not.

"Hm? Oh, don't worry about him. He just acts like an asshole sometimes. Real mean and grumpy. He'll snap out of it eventually, you just gotta give him a little bit of time." She waved the peanuts through the air before picking up a bottle of Classic Coke and shutting the door with a hard slam, having made her choice.

But Dante knew that he couldn't do that, ignore Nero like he was a child having a tantrum. He didn't want to turn his back like he had before; walking out of his life without so much as a glance back over his shoulder, making a hand gesture so vague and meaningless that even he didn't know what it meant.

"You gonna get anything, Dante? If money's a problem then I'll get it for ya." Nico asked as she headed towards the register.

"Nah, I'm good… Thanks for that though." He only smiled and shook his head; not wanting her to know that he was as broke as he looked.

The clerk, tired and underpaid and used to dealing with late-night weirdos; did not even look up from his magazine when Dante walked out.

* * *

A terrible pain had settled inside of Nero, clawing its way up his arm, scratching like a wild animal at the walls inside of his chest, peeling the meat down. He clenched his teeth and let out a soft groan. (too soft, the kind that was ashamed of its own weakness) He sucked in a quivering gulp of air before pressing his hand against the Devil Breaker, rolling his shoulder again like _that_ was going to help.

He wasn't used to this, he could never get used to this; that was out of the question. Pins and needles, needles and pins. Burning, aching, tingling in the clawed fingertips that he no longer had.

Phantom limb pain, a terrible hurt without a viable, physical cause. A cause that he couldn't hack or shoot or punch; it was intangible, torturous, and ghostly. The least he could do being the most he could do; which was to just grit his teeth and bear it.

The Kid crushed his eyes shut when he heard Dante's unmistakable footsteps venture closer, anger shooting up his already stiff spine. _I do_ _not_ _need this shit._ Nero thought to himself as he sank his teeth into his tongue to quiet another groan.

He only hoped that if he was silent for long enough, still for long enough, the Old Man would take a hint and leave him the fuck alone. He quickly glanced over to his side, seeing that Dante was standing with his back leaning nonchalantly against the van door, tracing his fingers along the curves of the 'D' of Devil May Cry; looking like he wanted to talk but didn't know how to begin.

Standing there, the numbers of the gas pump still climbing higher and higher, pain chewing and swallowing the arm he no longer had; the Kid tried to pretend that Dante was just a stranger. A random hitchhiker that he and Nico had scraped off the side of the street like road kill. Just some scary-looking hobo that they were treating to a ride and maybe a bite to eat, all out of the kindness of their Good-Samaritan hearts. That's it. Nero didn't really know him in any kind of way that mattered, not then and not now.

 _You've grown, Kid…_ Dante thought as he felt his lips twitch; but nothing close to a frown or a smile changed his expression. He finally decided to speak, though he knew that it would not amount to anything.

"Hey Kid, thanks for—"

"If Nico wasn't here, I would've just left you." Nero interrupted with a harsh sigh, keeping his attention focused on the gas pump, the numbers spinning just like the thoughts in his head. "So if you need to thank somebody, thank her. Don't waste your breath on me."

 _Sure Kid._ Dante thought, believing him completely. "But—uhhh… you okay?" Dante knew that he wasn't, taking in such slow and shallow breaths like he was about to puke, and stepped closer. Nero curled up into himself, letting out another pained moan; then nodded, though it took effort.

"I'm fine…" He breathed out in a huff, his voice sounding strained and pulled thin, his face flushed.

"You sure?" Dante questioned as he stepped closer. "Is there anything I can— "

 _You can't do anything! Just fuck off!_ Nero thought.

Even then, stubborn as always and without knowing his own movements; Dante reached out and lightly grabbed Nero by the padded shoulder of his coat, pulling him close.

The Kid was stiff as a board, all nerves and bone; meat and metal. No heart, no soul; just a puppet pulled by its strings without any thought given to its own wants or desires. The hug was a gesture that Nero neither accepted nor denied; awkward and crushing and sweaty. He was quiet, feeling Dante's arms wrap tight around his body like a blanket, rubbing his elbows and shoulders gently; holding him close like he meant something special.

Did Nero want this? He didn't know. But he felt like he'd kill the Old Man if he didn't stop soon. His skin and clothes smelling dirty and unwashed, damp and hot with perspiration.

Dante smiled as he gave the Kid a few well-meaning pats on the back (his version of a 'there, there' gesture) that would have knocked the air out of anyone else.

The Kid winced when he felt something thorny and unpleasant press hard against the side of his head, and he realized that Dante had kissed him. It was tight-lipped and warm, completely unreasonable.

Still, slowly and surely, the misery within Nero seemed to loosen its grip on his missing limb; trailing down his wrist, to his fingers, linking them once before finally letting go.

Nero only told himself that it was just a meaningless coincidence. "You done yet?" He asked coldly, his voice low, his ears flushed an obvious and humiliating red.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm done." Dante murmured, giving him a half-hearted grin, appearing untroubled; but they both knew better. Nero didn't answer him.

And then, like a ship, like a boat, like a lifeline; the Kid drifted away. Dante watched his movements; seeing that he looked so wounded. The hug (could he even call it that?) had done nothing. It was nothing more than a placebo, a sugar pill, a smiley-faced sticker handed out at a cancer ward.

But he loved him still.

"Hey, Dante!" Nico called out as the automatic doors dinged shut behind her, a small plastic bag swinging in one hand, her Coke in the other. "You hungry?"

* * *

They found a 24-hour diner not too far from where they were at, the parking lot as empty and desolate as the gas station; Nico taking up as many spaces as she liked. The neon sign of the diner had ignited the night, catching their attention like a shooting star, Lucky Lude's Burgers and Milkshakes.

Dream-like and half-asleep; she and Dante walked in unison towards the entrance of the diner, Nero trailing behind, walking with slow and deliberate steps like he didn't want to be there.

Nico blew a raspberry at the no-smoking sign plastered on the door as they walked through.

Greeted by a gust of cool air, their shoes scraping across the checkerboard flooring, colored red and white like a picnic tablecloth. Vinyl records graced the walls along with posters of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe. Electric guitars colored an explosive cherry bomb red mounted the walls left and right, along and Golden-Age superhero pictures.

It was a time-warp back into 1950's Americana, frozen like the snap of a photograph; seemingly immune to the ever-changing world just outside their doors. Dante couldn't help but think of Fredi's; the old diner back home. He hoped that it was still there, in business; and that nothing had changed. That he could just walk right on in and they'd have his usual waiting for him like always.

But it was an idiot's wish that he had made; a fool's dreaming nostalgia.

(Everything had changed and would not change back.)

"Man, I love places like this. It's like something out of a movie." Nico said as she sat down in a corner booth styled like the seats of an old muscle car, with Dante seating himself across from her. "So what are you in the mood for, Dante? I'm buyin'." Nico passed him a menu before stretching her legs long across the seat, her cowgirl boots caked in dirt and dangling off the side. Smiling brightly and acting like stretching out like that was the most natural thing in the world to do.

"Hey, you never buy _me_ food." Dante was surprised at the amount of bitterness that coated Nero's words, though a playful sort of irritation lingered there as well.

"Living Legend Discount, Nero. You're a pro, but you ain't there yet." Nico said as she winked at Dante with the hint of a grin.

The Kid saw his partner sprawled out and shot her a look that could kill, before dropping down beside Dante, nudging him over like he was just a backpack that someone had left there. Though in spite of the Kid's behavior, the chasm in between the both of them had receded a bit now, their knees touching under the table.

Dante heard a smirk from Nico, and noticed how much it seemed to amuse her; pushing them together like that. She raised her chin a little high as she placed an unlit cigarette in between her lips, smug and pleased with herself; like a girl who was forcing her dolls to hug and kiss and fall in love.

Dante swallowed and perused the menu in his hands, classic All-American dishes, burgers and French fries and milkshakes. The words were a little blurry to him, so he judged by pictures alone, which were kaleidoscopic and plentiful.

Their waiter shuffled up and took their orders without a hello or a pen, eyeing Nico's unlit cigarette with a quiet sort of need. The rule-breaker simply plucked it from in between her lips and gave him an apologetic smile before quietly asking for a cup of coffee.

"Do whatever you want; the world's already gone to hell anyway." He grumbled before asking if she had one to spare. She gave him three and watched him light one right then and there.

Dante ended up ordering bacon and eggs and toast, along with a strawberry milkshake, pointing at what he wanted. And Nero only mumbled that he wasn't hungry; and asked for a glass of water.

* * *

"Gone to hell?" Dante asked after their waiter had left, eyes flickering in between the both of them. He knew that something was wrong, he could feel it like splinters in his fingers when he had broken out. That things had gotten worse, worse than they had ever been before.

"Yep, gone straight downhill ever since you left. We've been picking up the slack as best we can though, kept the business afloat and all that." Nico's coffee was brought out first. She added in heaps of sugar and cream until it was as pale as milk. Took a sip, made a face, then added in more sugar from the little pink packets at her elbow. Having the waiter's blessing, she used her saucer as a makeshift ashtray, a cigarette already snubbed out on it.

Dante looked over at Nero, who kept his eyes on his hands, drumming his cybernetic fingers along the tabletop as if he were bored. His water was brought out next, which he took a few meager sips of, tasting like medicine.

"Grandmamma told me stories about you." Nico murmured softly, eyeing Dante through a gauzy curtain of smoke.

That got his attention, causing him to stare at her as his plate was set down in front of him.

Not knowing how to react to what he was being told, as well as feeling ravenous, Dante shoved food into his mouth as if it were going to hop off his plate and fly away. He tried to savor it, he wanted to savor it, but he was far too hungry. He licked his fingers ungraciously, sucking up the salt and crumbs, wiping his hands on his pants and coat even though napkins were right there in front of him. The milkshake tasted like heaven in a glass; thick and creamy, staining his aching teeth a sweetheart pink.

"Stories? I hope they were good ones." He finally said with a smile so charming it put Elvis Presley to shame.

She laughed, a sound filled to the brim and then running over with affection; though whether it was for Nell or Dante himself, he couldn't tell. She shook her head and pushed her hair out of her face, accidentally flicking ash onto her shirt. "God, no! She said that you didn't care one lick about the hard work and craftsmanship that went into making a gun. All the blood, sweat, and tears, none of it seemed like it mattered at all. Said that you treated guns like they were somethin' to play with; like toys or firecrackers. Always thought of you as somebody's rowdy youngin' that needed his butt whooped." Dante could only look at her, grease shining bright on his chin.

Nico nodded as she took another sip of her coffee. "She said how she'd tell herself 'Okay, this is the last time I'm helping him out' But like a puppy dog you just kept coming right on back. And she just couldn't find it in herself to tell you no."

"I had to keep coming back. There wasn't anybody in the whole world who could do what Nell did. She could juice up a squirt-gun to have it take down an elephant. She was just _that_ good."

Dante glanced over at Nero's cybernetic arm, the metal digits wrapped around the cold glass.

Nico stirred her coffee, as if in deep thought, eyeing her reflection in the cup. "But…" She began, a veil of smoke curling up around her like a halo of light. "But after she got sick things, were different. Before she'd fall asleep, she'd build you up to be some kind of superhero, like there wasn't a thing on this earth you couldn't do. Like Jesus Christ and then some, somebody to be worshipped."

She emptied her cup, tossed her cigarette in and listened to it sizzle, watched it die.

Nero couldn't help but scoff at that, angry and audible. An entire world of hurt compressed into that one sound. Nico shot him a look and he kept his face turned away, slurping down the rest of his water.

"Jesus Christ huh? That's a new one." Dante said with soft chuckle as he scraped his plate clean. Sure his dad was thought of as a deity to be worshipped, but not Dante.

Nothing could be further from the truth; they had about as much in common as heaven and hell.

Dante wasn't Jesus Christ, not even close.

He couldn't heal the sick or raise the dead. He couldn't make the blind see again.

And he couldn't give an amputee his arm back.

* * *

 **Rating will go up with next chapter.**


	3. Fucked

**Warning: Incest.**

* * *

The motel that they pulled into looked like it had seen better days, the kind of place that was home-sweet-home to broken down drink machines, serial killers, and never-read bibles. But to Dante it was perfection, everything he could hope for; a chance to finally lay his weary head down to rest.

The rooms were bought with little hassle, Nico did all the talking, striking up conversations as easy as a match; tossing a room key at Dante after everything was settled. With Rebellion on his back and Pandora slung over his shoulder, he caught it smoothly with one hand; twirling it in between his fingers with the quick and easy movements of a card trick.

The night between the two of them ended there, with Nico giving him her sweetest and best hug, an embrace that Dante was more than happy to return with a big bear hug of his own. He snickered when he lifted her off the ground; making her laugh as she kicked her dangling feet through the air.

Nero only watched from beside the van, as removed as a child picked last for kickball. Feeling weighed down by his backpack, as well as Nico's floral overnight bag clutched in his hand. He sighed as he tapped his foot and waited impatiently for the display of affection to be over and done with, like it was a boring black-and-white movie that he couldn't wait to turn off and never watch again. Dante looked over and gave him a hearty grin as he set her down, which the Kid blandly shrugged off with rolled eyes and a moody sneer.

"Nico, you've gotta be fucking kidding me." He grumbled as his partner walked over and took her bag from him.

"Uh-uh, I ain't playin' around. Besides, it's just for tonight." She said as she lit a cigarette and took in a deep breath, letting the harsh taste and smell of the nicotine seep in to soothe her nerves like a luxurious bubble bath. She was more than just a little tired from dealing with Nero's pissed-off attitude all night, since he usually calmed down and got over whatever was bothering him by now.

Nero shook his head as he pressed his lips tightly together, taking just enough care to wait until Dante was well out of ear-shot before finally letting loose. "Bitch, shit fuck goddamn son of a—" and he went on like that. Stomping off around the van like he was getting ready to vandalize it; to kick out a taillight or slash a tire, rip off the sign and shatter it to pieces against the pavement, letter by letter. All the while swearing like it was gonna make him feel better.

Nico ignored the colorful background noise, her cigarette keeping Nero at an arms-length distance to where his tantrum didn't bother her so much. She watched as Dante headed down towards the end of the motel where his room was, wondering if he could hear what was being said. Her hazel eyes trained on that mop of filthy gray hair and dirty red trench coat, waiting for him to turn around and ask what was wrong; to run up to see if there was anything that he could do to help. But the Old Man just kept walking further away, reminding her of a lone cowboy riding along on the range; looking like nothing in the world seemed to bother him at all.

"It's just for _one night_." Her mouth smoldered when she spoke with an impish smile; unable to take Nero seriously when he got like that, snarling a dirty vocabulary like some edge-lord teenager playing at being the real deal. "Now quit talkin' like I shot your dog." Of course he ignored her.

Dante and Nero. She could tell that these two had a history together. She didn't know how far or deep it went, but it had a massive effect on her partner. The nosy snoop in her hoped that it was something saucy, like a messy breakup or a hardcore fuck where Dante forgot to make the courtesy call the next day. But getting Nero to talk about anything that wasn't demon hunting was worse than pulling shark teeth. Though it was plain as day that the connection in between the two men was undeniable, even if it did leave Nero more than just a little angry; stomping around in a terrible pain.

Besides, he didn't let just anybody hug him.

She knew that Nero would kill some time by following her back to her room, and she'd let him; for a little while at least, before booting him out like a one-night stand. He would ask her about her latest ideas for his new arm; feign interest in all the technical jargon and complicated schematics that he couldn't make heads or tails of. Nodding and saying 'uh-huh' like he understood everything that she was telling him perfectly, asking the same questions that she had answered over a dozen times. She knew that he would act just like a little kid in class pretending to be interested in the teacher's personal life to avoid doing actual schoolwork.

And that suited her just fine. Hopefully Dante would be asleep by the time Nero walked in and all three of them could make it through the night alive.

* * *

When he opened the door and switched on the lights, Dante was certain that there had been a mistake. Perhaps Nico had given him the wrong key, or there had been a mix-up of some kind at the front desk. Maybe the clerk had been careless, a little too focused on the garter tattoo painted into her thigh to pay any real attention to what he was doing.

Lingering there in the doorway, fidgeting with uncertainty; Dante wondered why he would need a room with two beds.

He looked back over at the van to see that they both were gone, to their single-bed room that was supposed to be his. And Dante knew that he should have closed the door and headed back to the front desk, found out which room they were staying in so they could switch, but he didn't. He just shut the door, killed the lights, and leaned his weapons against the wall, their shadows cast long against the floor.

He also should have shed his coat, withdrawn his guns, and kicked off his boots before even going near the bed; but he didn't do any of that either. The task was too large, simple yet insurmountable. A special kind of exhaustion had grabbed hold of him, weighing down deep in his bones like hardening cement.

He collapsed backwards onto the mattress with a relieved sigh, his limbs fully splayed about on all sides as if he were getting ready to make a snow angel. The pillow was deliciously cool against his rough cheek; his hands dipping under the covers to feel the sheets, all of it so wondrously soft to his aching body.

His eyes were closed before he even knew what was happening, but to his dismay it wasn't particularly relaxing. He managed nothing more than a jerky and dreamless little cat nap that was complete and utter misery. A full and aware consciousness with closed eyes, he tried to tell himself to go to sleep.

The world was falling apart and he needed his rest if he wanted to put it back together again.

He just laid there, listening to his own steady breathing, focusing on the smell of the room to give his mind something to do; the scent of pine cleaner, old fabric, and the people who had come and gone before him. People who probably stayed up all night and worried about this and that, things they had no choice in and things they could change easy enough if they only had the courage to grab the reigns of their shattered lives and pull. Dante could feel all of that deeply, along with the childish want of going home but not being sure where home was anymore; whether it was a time or a place or a person that wished you were dead.

He hated moments like this, quiet ones where his thoughts were cranked up too loud and there was nothing he could do to turn them off, to pull the plug and let them die like they should. He tried sleeping again, telling himself that the room was so cool and dark and comfortable so why not go to sleep? He traced his fingers along the covers and flipped his pillow over to the cold side, willing himself to go to sleep; his eyes pressing closed and his body finally relaxing just a little.

The knock that rattled the door made Dante jerk like a man that had been stabbed, scrambling up in the bed.

"Old Man, open up!" It was the bad-tempered shout of the Kid, sounding like he was a loud and impatient cop about to break the door down and raid the room for drugs.

"I'm coming. I'm coming, hold your horses…" Dante yawned, wiping the few slivers of sleep from his eyes as he forced himself off the bed, rolling his shoulders and massaging his lower back, grumbling all the while.

He opened up the door, and before he could even say 'hey, what's up?' or 'you okay?', the Kid had already shouldered his way in the room; tossing his backpack onto Dante's bed and pulling off his boots.

"Here." Was all that was said as a plastic bag was thrown at Dante's arms.

Special delivery from Nico.

Dante blinked as he switched on the light before looking down at the Kid, who kept his face turned away, ears colored rose petal red. Dante went ahead and silently rustled through what he had been given. A simple tooth brush and toothpaste; shampoo and body wash, and a pair of plain gray sweatpants. (No underwear, but that was alright)

Having only eyes for food and sleep, Dante hadn't given even one thought to clothing or basic necessities, hygiene products and the like. He told himself that he'd pay Nico back, smiling softly as he felt like a part of Nell was still looking out for him, even after all of these long years without her.

"You gonna wash already or not? You smell like shit." Nero growled in a tone that made Dante feel stupid, like the Kid was being asked if he knew what a shower was and how to take one. "Jesus, this bed sucks." He complained as he sat down on the mattress, hitting the covers with his prosthetic hand.

Dante looked at the Kid, and couldn't help but think back to the last time he had seen him in Fortuna all those years ago. Remembering their very first fight, how he had found the Nero's anger and white-hot passion to be endearing, admirable, and 110 percent genuine. Hell, he'd even go so far as to call it cute; like a frazzled little white kitten with its fur bristling, scratching and biting at your fingers with its tiny little needle teeth and claws, doing its damndest to hurt you.

But now, with that constant grimacing expression, furrowed brow, and dead-man's stare, (Don't think about Vergil. Don't open that old wound) Nero was just _mean_ ; mean for the sake of it, it seemed like.

Dante wasn't sure if he had done anything wrong to warrant the treatment, stepped out of line, or had embarrassed or hurt the Kid. Sure, he touched him a little bit, but a hug wasn't too inappropriate, right?

But still...Dante always knew when he wasn't wanted.

Taking a risk, and almost hesitating, the older quietly sat down beside Nero, the mattress dipping under his weight. The Kid was silent as he scooted away, down to the foot of the bed.

"Kid…do you want me to leave? Is that it? Is that what you want?" The reluctance to speak; the softness and the hurt in Dante's voice is what got the younger's attention, his cybernetic hand pausing mid-claw at the covers on the bed, unmoving and still like he had just heard the wind howl outside.

Nero was quiet, keeping his head down, eyes set to the moldy shag carpet like it held all the answers, all of the right things to say.

He didn't know. He didn't have any fucking clue as to what it was that he wanted from Dante, whether it was an apology or an explanation for leaving like he did and then coming back like nothing had changed. Whether he wanted to be given something more than just a greasy hug under dying gas station lights; more than a fleeting kiss on the side of his head that only made him feel hollowed out and cold on the inside.

Nero didn't move, he didn't speak, and only swallowed even though it made his throat feel tight and ready to split.

"I-I mean, do I bother you that _much_?" Dante sighed as he massaged his chin like he was in deep thought, unsure of what else to say; Nero's constant silence making his ears ring worse than when he was alone. "I mean, what the hell's your problem?"

"What's my— _what's my problem_?" Nero shot up off the bed, his eyes shining dark like a cold blue sapphire about to be smashed by a hammer, hands clenched into tight fists that were ready to lash out.

There it was.

That red-hot temper was better than the icy coldness, better than the quiet. It was the kind of anger that had teeth and was not afraid to use them, Dante could deal with that. He didn't mind getting bit.

"You give me your sword like it's some kind of birthday present and then you just fucked off! Did your stupid little finger-gun salute; whatever the fuck that means, and then just up and disappeared!"

As he yelled, as he hollered, each word was like a fish hook being gulped down and then yanked up out of Nero's throat. Scraping and gouging and tugging hard; getting caught on the ragged meat of his insides; leaving him worse off than before with the taste of blood and squirming worms lying thick on his tongue. It hurt to talk, but he still kept talking, Dante's shocked expression egging him on further; getting his blood up, boiling hot.

"You disappear for years! Fucking _years_! And now all of a sudden you literally ride back into my life, wanting cuddle and hug and be all buddy-buddy, and I'm supposed to be _okay_ with that?! I'm supposed to pretend that you weren't _gone_ all that time?!"

As he stood there, snarling and shaking with a powerless fury, his eyes began to water. Glazed over with tears that stung worse than any chemical burn; bloodshot red with veins like a roadmap of Hell.

He hated himself for it, for what he was saying and how he really felt, letting his heart fall onto the dirty motel carpet and expecting Dante to care enough to pick it up. Abandoned by the one person on the planet who could look at him, _really_ look at him; at his raging loneliness, his almost maniacal bloodlust that made others put their hands up and step back, and say 'This is normal. I understand how you feel. And how you feel is normal.' And actually fucking mean it.

Nero felt so weak…

Dante opened his mouth to speak but the Kid only shook his head and held his prosthetic hand up to silence him, giving him a good hard look at what had been lost in his absence, at what he could have prevented if he had just…just fucking _been there_.

"You send me the sign and that's it." It took Nero a moment, but his voice was calmer and steadier now, though still rippling; unsure if he had the energy to make another wave. "No word, no letter, no phone call or anything. You pretty much dropped off the face of the fucking earth."

Dante sat with his hands dangling in his lap, his pale eyes unblinking and completely focused on Nero's face, the younger's words burning like the crack of a whip against the skin of his soul. "Kid, I didn't…" He could only swallow his spit. "I didn't mean to…"

"Didn't mean to." Nero parroted in his quivering voice, shaking his head, wiping his eyes with cold metal fingers. "Didn't mean to. Didn't mean to do _what_ , Dante?"

"I thought you didn't need me." The words came out with a little laugh that made the Kid narrow his eyes and Dante feel more than just a little ridiculous. "I mean, back at Fortuna I had…I thought—"

He thought that Nero had won; he thought that he had won and found his happily-ever-after. He saved the world; he got the girl, he earned his happy ending. He didn't need somebody like Dante barging in at the worst possible moment and screwing it all up.

"I told you everything was your call. I figured that if I came back I'd just steal your thunder, you know? Cramp your style? So I stayed away. But I wasn't ignoring you or anything. I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just backed off and wanted to let you live your life…and…"

 _Get married. Have kids. Make the life for yourself that I couldn't have…_

The thought made Dante almost shake his head. It was just as he had said during their first meeting.

We're the same, you and I.

The only demon that had ever had a family was his own father, and look at how wonderful all of that had turned out. That sort of future wasn't meant for them.

"Look, I'm an asshole. I never wanted to hurt you." Dante ran his hand through his hair, tugging and pulling at the dirty strands that were stiff and hard with dirt. "And I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry, Ki—Nero…" It was meant to sound sincere because it was, but for some reason it felt false, just pretend words coming out of Dante's mouth; as phony as a half-remembered script.

Nero scoffed, but didn't say anything.

"I'm just…I'm _sorry_. But I'm here now, and—ah fuck it." Dante sighed and pressed his hand to his face, his shoulders slumping down low, certain that he was just making things worse by speaking aloud. The burn of Nero's wordless stare felt blistering, the flames of neither the sun nor Hell could hold a candle to that gaze, they would be envious.

"Look, I'll leave, okay?" Dante gave an empty smile, his eyes watering as he set the plastic bag down onto the mattress. "Tell Nico thanks for everything, and I'll write out an IOU, grab my shit and—" He moved to get up.

"No." The word came out of nowhere through clenched teeth, so fast that Nero wasn't even sure if he had said it aloud. His metal hand on Dante's shoulder, shoving him to sit back down onto the bed. The older astonished at how fast he had moved, how strong he felt, stronger than before. Dante looked at the hand that gripped him, those dark metal fingers twisted into his coat, like a sword to his throat…

But there was a world of difference between the two. How the wielder of the sword had said 'leave me' and cut him when he reached out; while this hand was holding him down was telling him to stay.

"Look, let's just deal with this shit tomorrow…" Nero mumbled as he released his shoulder and turned away. "And if you snore, I swear to god, I'm blowing your head off."

"Sure, Kid." Was all that Dante said, because that was all that he could say.

* * *

The water ran in rivulets down Dante's body, hot and cleansing and pure. He sighed as he ran his fingers through his stiff hair, detangling it as best he could. He kneaded and massaged and scratched generous amounts of shampoo into his scalp until his skin felt rubbed raw, his hands coming away gray, feeling almost muddy. He ended up using over half the bottle, the same being said about the body wash. He really took his sweet time, cleaning everywhere once, twice, thrice; and then another time after that just to make sure.

But mostly he just stood with his head under the hot spray and allowed the water soak into his skin and his pores, swirling gray and then brown down his body and into the drain, until it finally ran clear. The steam ghosting all around and fogging the small mirror, covering everything in a warm and moist dew.

He dried himself and kicked the towel into the corner. He brushed his teeth until half the bristles tore and he almost ran out of tooth paste, spitting foamy blood down into the sink; gurgling water until he thought he was going to throw up.

He walked out of the bathroom shirtless, wearing those gifted sweatpants; his dirty clothing bundled up in his arms. Nero had the television on with the volume muted, flipping through the same few grainy channels without any sort of interest, a Technicolor rainbow flashing bright across his face as he watched Dante out of the corner of his eye.

"Shower's free." Dante smiled and let out a relaxed sigh that seemed to unwind him completely, letting his clothes drop to the floor as he collapsed onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow. Wondering if this was what religion felt like, to be resurrected and reborn completely anew.

"Okay," Nero only mumbled in a tone so dark that Dante had actually thought that it was meant for him; but then he raised his head and looked at the T.V.

A news report was showing demon attacks, video after video of panicked dizzying footage that looked like something out of a nightmare. People being gored, the quick flare of ineffective guns being fired, blood being splattered onto the camera lenses, showering everything in red. The television was silent but they could still hear the screaming.

Nero switched to a game-show for a few minutes before turning off the T.V. completely. Tossing the remote onto the nightstand; he leaned back into his bed and closed his eyes. That was nothing that he hadn't seen before. "I'll wash later, Old Man. Don't worry about me. Get some sleep." He said as casually as he could before turning off the lamp, shrouding the room in darkness.

Dante listened, and fell into sleep and stayed there for a while.

* * *

Dante woke up and didn't know why, blinking up at the stained motel ceiling with wide eyes that were no longer sleepy.

He looked over to see that Nero's bed was empty, the covers a mess, a dull yellow light visible from underneath the closed bathroom door. He was about to turn over to go back to sleep, but he heard a soft groan coming from inside the bathroom. It brought to mind the gas station, the image of Nero shuffling his feet and twisting his body away like Dante was going to hurt him. Then he heard the groan again…

It was a small noise made through clenched teeth, not wanting to be heard, something that he would normally ignore in favor of rest, but Dante got up and walked towards the light.

"Kid, you okay?" He questioned, easing the door open and feeling the steam ghosting out to warm his skin like an oven.

"Yeah…Yeah, I'm okay." Mumbled the liar from the inside.

Dante looked to see that Nero was leaning against the counter, fully dressed in sleeping shorts and a black t-shirt that was inside-out, grimacing bitterly. A towel, damp and white, flowed down his shoulder like an angel's clipped wing, exposing what was left of his arm, nothing more than a stump of skin down to the elbow, the large pink scar gnarled and gleaming.

It looked almost pretty, but Dante didn't say so, and tried not to stare; keeping his eyes trained on Nero's face, then focusing onto the slow circular movement he made with his one hand. Dante briefly wondered if he should leave, that he should step back and shut the door. Feeling like he was seeing something that he was not supposed to see.

"It doesn't feel like it's gone. Not really…"Nero's tone was nonchalant, though his voice still quivered, still hitched as he felt the muscles that he no longer had begin to split open again, becoming a little too familiar with how a slab of meat feels when it's being cut to pieces.

Dante stepped closer, listening as Nero said that he could still feel like he still had his arm at times, late at night when the Devil Breaker was pulled off and set aside; but it was never a good thing. His phantom fingertips tingling like he had been shocked, then burning like they were being skinned, keeping him up when all he wanted to do was sleep.

The younger winced as he felt Dante's hand press wordlessly against the scar, gripping it, massaging it from the elbow up to the shoulder. Kneading the damp skin as gently as he could, treating the limb as if it were as fragile as an egg shell about to break. It surprised Nero, how soft Dante was being, softer then he thought the man knew how to be.

"It's okay, you're gonna be okay, Kid." Dante murmured like a prayer, standing so close now, the air feeling warmer; his hand on the younger's shoulder, patting it just like he had during their last meeting all those years ago, except this time he didn't let go.

Nero leaned in and pressed his forehead against Dante's, looking into the eyes that matched his own, at his lips; wanting something that he thought he would not be given. His breathed quickening with nervous little hitches as the towel fell off his shoulders and into a heap on the floor.

Of course they kissed. (The world is falling to pieces, people are dying, who cares if they kissed?)

It was soft, it was tight-lipped and pleasant, until it wasn't.

Then it got harder, needier, ocean-deep and sandpaper rough. The kind of kiss that crushes and smothers and takes just as much as it gives.

Dante knew that he should be ashamed, disgusted with himself and what he was doing. It was bad, it was wrong. (so wrong) It was ten different flavors of fucked-up. The dirty rawness of it all made worse in that cramped motel bathroom that was growing hotter by the moment.

He should be killed, taken out back and shot in the head, forced to stare down the double-barrel of Blue Rose like it was the rabbit hole that led into another life.

 _It's the end of the road for you, Old Man._

He was the textbook Creepy Uncle. The kind of guy that wasn't allowed at family reunions; banned from ballet recitals and school plays.

He thought of this as he touched Nero everywhere and made sure that he liked it, kissing the corner of his open mouth, then tasting his neck and shoulder. Work-horse hands diving under that black shirt to grope at the still-damp skin of his chest and abs; pushing the fabric up, up, up.

This wasn't an act of love, this couldn't even be called comfort; it was nothing more than a distraction. A distraction from pain and loneliness, from every single short-coming that either of them had ever experienced. It was an insult to affection in every form it had ever taken, no matter how innocent or obscene.

Nero's one hand grabbing and tugging on the waistband of Dante's sweatpants, but not pulling them down, not exposing what they held; it was just the tease of touch. The want of going further but being too embarrassed to say it out loud, his ears flushed red. A slight movement of the hand that whispered in a thin little voice, begging. 'Please? Please?'

Pushed, shoved, manhandled just how he liked, Nero was forced out of the bathroom and onto the bed. His shirt pulled over his head and thrown wherever, bare chest pressed against bare chest, heartbeat against heartbeat. The older buried his face into the crook of Nero's neck, breathing in his scent; wet and hot and perfect. Dante could almost feel the lost phantom touch of that absent Devil Bringer gliding through his hair, clawing open the skin on his back, making him hiss through his teeth and moan and crave more, more, more.

"If you want me to stop then just say it." His voice came out rougher than he would have liked, as harsh as a threat that promised a slow and painful death. "J-just…just say it…"

 _Please tell me to stop._

But they were both way past that point and knew it.

They kissed until it hurt, mouths open, teeth clicking, tasting faintly of shared blood. Dante's hand slamming Nero's wrist down onto the mattress, his other peeling the Kid's shorts and underwear down his thighs and then discarding them.

Nero moaned as he felt Dante press against him, large and hard. (Bigger than he thought) The fabric of those sweatpants feeling wet where it counted, already damp with pre-cum.

Before the Kid even knew what was happening, he was on his side, his residual limb pinched and throbbing in between the mattress and his chest, Dante positioned behind him, kissing and nipping his ear, licking a hot trial down his neck.

Gently, slowly, Dante pressed his fingers against Nero's mouth, trailing his bottom lip with the calloused tips. Nero knew what it meant and parted his lips with a desperate gasp to take them in; sucking hard, covering them in spit.

 _Kid must've learned a few things about himself while I was gone…_

Dante smiled into the younger's neck as he pulled his hand away, wet with saliva, and reached down lower, lower. Trailing the Kid's spine until he found what he wanted; rubbing and encircling with his wet fingers before finally pushing in deep, up to his knuckle. Nero hissed and arched his back in response, his left arm flailing for a moment before tangling into Dante's hair and pulling him into a fumbling open-mouthed kiss; desperate with want.

"You okay?" Dante asked as he broke the kiss, enjoying the feeling of Nero's fingers twisting and tugging in his hair. It felt so nice.

Nero's hair tickled Dante's face as he gave an eager nod, damp with sweat and smelling of a strange and sweet sickness.

The Kid licked his lips, sighing and panting as he spread his legs, Dante's hand pulled out of him and gripping under his knee, holding him open; well aware of what came next.

Like food, like water, like any other luxury, Dante tried to savor it. He tried to take his time, tried to even his ragged breathing as he pushed his pants down his thighs, taking himself in one hand and giving a few good strokes to keep himself hard. (not that he needed it, he was harder than he had ever been)

His chin feeling rough on Nero's shoulder, gifting a few slow and hesitant kisses against the side of his neck, positioning himself and—

And then he was in. He was in, oh my holy loving fuck, Dante was in; and he just kept going.

Nero gasping like he couldn't breathe; biting his tongue and trying not to cry out as Dante rammed his hips into that boiling wet heat. The elder panting wetly as he sank his teeth into Nero's neck to keep himself quiet. Biting hard, biting too hard; (almost chewing) and then breaking the skin. Kissing, lapping, sucking on the wound like liquid candy, murmuring into the younger's neck, growling out from deep within his heart. "Sorry, sorry, so sorry."

 _Please forgive me._ Dante thought as he spread the Kid's legs just a little wider, forcing himself into that clenching tight heat; as deep as he could go. Nero could only whimper and curse and curl his toes, his hand still pulling at Dante's hair like he was about to yank it out by the roots.

The position was changed in a blur, Nero's face shoved down hard into the mattress, cutting his lip open on his teeth, tasting metal, sucking on pennies dipped in salt. His flesh-and-blood arm twisted painfully behind his back; Dante's pornstar hard thrusts sending him reeling down into a hot nothingness. Dante's fingers digging into the younger's scalp, wishing that his hair wasn't so short so that it would be easier to yank and grab.

The only sounds were the breathless panting, almost going hoarse, that wet angry sound of skin colliding with skin. The springs of the cheap mattress creaking so loud like it was ready to fall apart, thighs shaking and slick with sweat.

The Kid's eyes were half-lidded and glassy like he had been tranquilized, focused on nothing but what he was feeling. His brow furrowed, his eyes clenched tight like he had been wounded, his mind a mess as he licked his bloodied lips and finally came; Dante having thrown him over the edge of that chasm, down into the water to drown. Nero let out a shameless moan as a thin little string of white dripped down onto the sheets; in between his shaking thighs.

As he felt the younger slacken and quiet underneath him, Dante picked up his pace. Gripping him harder, fucking him harder, so close to his release, so close. Almost there, almost…

Dante came and he felt like he was dying, that his heart was about to stop cold. He came and his muscles were as rigid as steel cables under his skin, his blunt nails drawing blood from the younger, like an offering, like a sacrifice. He cursed from within the confines of his soul; like a spell or a hex. He cursed his dead father and his dirty bloodline; he cursed his mad brother as he came inside of his brother's son.

He came, he came like Judgment Day.

Then tears streamed down his face and he didn't do anything about them, letting them trail down his cheeks. "Sorry…" Dante managed to gasp out as he released Nero's arm, bruised a rich purple in the shape of his large hand that was already fading. Blood rusted onto Dante's hands, under his fingernails, like he had just committed a murder, taken a life.

I'm sorry…

* * *

The afterglow was snuffed out before it even had a chance to really shine, but that didn't surprise Dante. The Kid was his father's son after all…

Nero had laid in his arms for a little while, not speaking, eyes closed and breathing steadily enough, curled up on his chest like a girl after pillow talk. But then he stirred, too soon for Dante's liking. Untangling himself from the Old Man's embrace and walking naked towards the bathroom; moving with the slow and relaxed carelessness of someone who had been fucked just right.

Dante stared at the ceiling, wiping his eyes as he listened to the light being switched on, the sound of toilet paper being torn and balled up, the light rasp of skin being wiped down. So this was nothing new to Nero, he had played bottom before and was familiar with the usual drill of aftercare.

Still, Dante thought of tomorrow and wondered if Nico would know what it was that they had done. If she would sniff it out even though they both kept their mouths shut. (She seemed the type) The smell of sex staining their skin, their clothes, as obvious as their eye color; the scent of sin itself.

Maybe she'd want filthy details from Nero; bombarding him with question after question. Asking if Dante was any good, if he shaved or not, and which position they used. Nico seemed the shameless type, not that there was anything wrong with that.

Looking on as the Kid walked out of the bathroom, still as naked as the day he was born, stepping right over his clothes that had been thrown to the floor, heading towards the other bed.

Dante was shameless too.

 _But it was just a fuck_ , that's what he told himself, _it's as simple as that_. But it wasn't, and he knew that it wasn't. It was just a fuck the way that age was just a number, the way jail was just a room, and the way that Russian Roulette was just a game.

They were demons; demons that were in each other's heads, in each other's bodies, and in each other's blood. Regardless of what the future held, whether happiness or heartbreak; they were tangled together until the day they would die, and then every day after that.

And Dante did not think that that was a good thing.


End file.
